Maybe Tomorrow
by thesoundingsea
Summary: My contribution to CS fluff month on tumblr. Killian wants Emma to see the sunrise at sea, but plans change... (oneshot)


**It's CS Fluff Month on tumblr, so this is my meager contribution. Seriously, this ship has SO many talented writers, whatever I add is just woefully inadequate!**

**No beta, all mistakes are mine. **

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Emma woke up before the sun. A pool of moonlight spilled over the foot of the bed, filling the room with a soft blue glow, but the midnight sky was already growing lighter with the promise of morning. There was warmth at her back in the form of a strong chest, a warm arm around her waist, a warm hand cupping her breast, and steady, hot breath on the back of her neck. She could feel his heartbeat against her ribs, slow and strong, beating almost in time with hers. She didn't want to risk waking him just yet, but she needed to see his face. Slowly, she rolled herself onto her back, already missing the feel of his skin on hers. When he didn't move, she rolled again to face at him. She brought her lips to his neck and placed a gentle kiss where his neck and shoulder met, smiling as she breathed in the smell of the sky and the sea and _Killian_. He shifted a little in his sleep before waking enough to realize that she'd changed their position, and he trailed rough, callused fingers from her shoulder to her hip, his eyes still closed. Killian let out a long breath and wrapped his arms around her waist to drag her body into his. He buried his face in her hair and she could feel him smile when he kissed the top of her head.

"We should get going," Emma whispered, contradicting her own words by slinging her free arm around his waist and hitching her top leg over his hip to draw him in.

Killian groaned at the contact and said, "There's still time yet," bending his knee to line his leg with hers, bringing their hips intimately closer. He kept his eyes closed as he kissed her cheek, her nose, her chin, the line of her jaw and the length of her throat. It wasn't sexual—sensual, perhaps, but there was no lust motivating his actions, merely contented peace that made Emma close her eyes and just…_rest_. How long had it been, since she'd just held someone like this? Since she'd allowed someone else to hold _her_ like this?

Never.

Something close to this, maybe, but never like _this_.

Emma searched through every memory she ever had with Neal, trying to recall a time when they'd simply enjoyed being together—but the images were all hurried flashes, stolen moments that they'd shared because they were reckless teenagers, always running, and they wanted to at least _pretend_ that they were normal. But their love was never normal. They lived like thieves in one of those movies where the characters never worried about the real world because they were so caught up in each other, too happy to realize their bubble _had_ to burst. And burst it did, leaving Emma with a decade of shackled pain and an aching heart full of regret.

She still remembered the weight of steel against her ankle in the hospital that day.

She would never forget that. _Could never forget that._

There was nothing but pain in those memories of Neal, so she'd let them go the moment they'd gotten Henry back, the moment she'd made her choice. The frown that was steadily furrowing her brow was quickly replaced by a smile when she thought back to Killian's expression when she told him she chose _him_.

She would never forget that. _Could never forget that_.

But this? What she had now with Killian? She'd never had anything close to this, and it made her chest ache, a feeling like her heart was trying to pull the moment closer, to savor it, to cherish it before it was taken from her. They'd fought for this love, clawed and scratched and built their love out of more than just a childish whim. It was a choice, one they'd made again and again in the jungles of Neverland, not realizing at the time that they were binding their hearts together.

When Killian hugged her tighter, until she could feel every inch of him against every inch of her, it was like he could feel that ache, too, and he was doing his best to give her heart what it needed because _his_ needed the same comfort. With one arm around his neck to support his head, she let the other trail up and down his spine a few times, earning a contented sigh as she slid her fingers up to run through his hair.

"We should get up," she said again, her voice no more than hushed breath. "We're going to miss it."

She felt his lips move against her collarbone. "Not yet," he repeated, and she _felt_ the words pressed into her skin more than she heard them, as he rolled them both over, his weight fully on top of her as he came to rest between her thighs. Killian lifted his head, eyes still heavy with sleep, and looked at her. His hair was a mess, rebellious black tufts sticking out in every direction, and he hadn't shaved in a week, so his beard left a scratchy red trail on her skin wherever his lips went. He'd teased her about it, tracing his finger over the marks he'd left on her neck, her breasts, her stomach, and Emma went bright red when he told her it was all over between her thighs. It wasn't embarrassment, really—it was just that she could hardly stand the gleeful spark in his eyes when he said it, like it was the best thing in the world that he could say that and see proof of it right in front of him, knowing that _he _was the one who did that to her, that _he_ was the one she chose.

"It's almost here," she said as she rubbed her thumbs over his thick black eyebrows. He closed his eyes and pressed his head closer to hers, and she reached up to brush a lock of hair out of his face. Distantly, it registered that he wasn't _hard_. The irrational part of her brain suddenly worried that somehow he'd already grown tired of her, that after four days of almost endless lovemaking his affections had already worn thin. But she knew that wasn't it, because he was still smiling at her with that infinite look in his eyes, like he was seeing more of her than even she could see and he loved every bit of it.

"Love of mine," Killian said, bringing his arms beneath her back to lift her up so his chest was resting firmly against her breasts, pressing his hips into hers until she felt that he may not be hard _yet_ but he was definitely _getting there_, and that look of unbridled adoration and—it amazed her still, but _love_—slowly darkened with lust. He placed a soft kiss on her lips and said, "It's a bloody sunrise. There's a new one every day."

He trailed kisses over her jawline, her neck, her shoulders and collarbone. Emma sighed, knowing exactly what it would mean if she relaxed into his arms like she was doing. "This was your idea, you know. What happened to 'the sun rising over the ocean, you have to see it, Swan'? We plan on it every night, but every morning you…you distract…_oh_…"

The sun rose without them as their limbs locked together, nothing between them but sweat and skin and glorious heat, the glow of sunlight filtering through the window as they memorized the rhythm of one another's bodies, mirroring sounds and movements, crashing over each other like the sea.

Much, _much_ later, Emma decided that Killian was right.

There would always be tomorrow.

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**Review? :)**


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